Page 8 of His in the Dark

I try to hold on to my feeling of belonging, thin as it is, for a few moments more.

“What brings you to my presence?” my father asks me. “Not war, I would hope.” He glances at both Aphrodite and Athena as he says this and the room darkens with the tension. They slip on innocent expressions, but as soon as Zeus looks away, Aphrodite smiles again. They are always at their games. Athena and Aphrodite will never tire of wars and battles and mortal arguments, and they will never run out of time to challenge each other. My sisters are true goddesses.

I take a deep breath. “I’ve come to ask if I may seek the guidance of the seers.”

My father frowns and without moving his gaze from my face, he commands to my sisters, “Leave us.”

At his tone, Athena and Aphrodite sweep out of the room, as graceful as could be, murmuring softly to each other as they go. I have no doubt they are back to planning the war they want to wage for a test of their choosing.

Their footsteps quiet and once they are gone my heart hammers in the empty room. My father knows. I am almost sure of it. A pure breeze blows outside the windows of the main hall. I can smell flowers and plants from the gardens, the scents almost as sweet and pure as the wine. The flowers give me as much life as I give them, although in this moment the act feels quite one sided. It is a scent that will never rot into the ground, merely be absorbed back into the earth of Olympus to grow again.

“You are familiar with the lore,” my father says as though it is a question.

I meet his eyes and nod. His silver eyes pierce into me. I am all too familiar with the lore. Sometimes, I wish I did not know as much as I do.

“You know of what’s to come,” he says with a nod and I cannot help but to nod as well.

My stomach drops and I struggle to swallow, but I try not to let it show on my face. “I wish for guidance still.”

Zeus stares at me for a long time. His knuckles turn white as he clenches his hand one finger at a time as if the movement aids his thought. Even the sounds in Olympus feel fitting to the gods. The wind is quiet and sumptuous and the faint sounds of a saint playing the lyre at a distance can be heard in his pause. It is all perfect, like my father. I am the one who doesn’t fit.

“Why are you not with your mother?” he questions rather than granting my permission.

Maybe he does not know. The uncomfortable feeling in my gut intensifies, but I make myself stand up straight and continue to meet his eyes.

“My magic seems to be...fickle. Since I’ve last gone.”

His eyebrows rise again. “Fickle? As in, worse than before?”

Warmth drains from my face and I force myself to answer, “Yes, Father.”

Outside the windows of the great hall, the skies dim and go gray. The clouds morph to rainy and threatening. They roll past, seeming to crowd in on me. I wait anxiously to see if a storm will break out, sending more lightning crashing before his throne.

“It has been months of fading, I seek only guidance.”

The clouds darken further but no lightning comes. After a few long minutes they lighten again and the sky returns to its former blue, though it is cloudier than it was before. Tendrils of my hair have been blown across my face by the wind, and I brush them back into place as if I did not notice the change in the weather. Surely others have.

My father shifts on his throne, seeming to come to a decision. “You may seek their guidance once this matter with your sisters and the mortal Helen is dealt with.”

“When would that be?” I ask, but he has already turned away from me.

Zeus gazes out the window, with a look of contemplation, like I have not spoken. He ignores my question. This may mean that he does not know, or it may mean that he does not care to answer, or it may mean that it does not matter. “In the meantime, I suggest you practice.”

My hands clasp to my chest. I cannot stop myself from doing it. I know it makes me appear nervous, but once they are clasped together in front of my heart, I cannot let them go. My heartbeat pounds under my hands, growing more anxious without control or knowing.

Maybe Zeus can feel my fear in the air, because his face softens as he gazes down upon me from his throne. “Go now, my daughter. Your power will strengthen.”

What if it doesn’t?I want to ask.Will you make an exception for me even if my presence is a disgrace amongst the Gods?

I know he won’t, and I know better than to ask the question. With how tight it is, my throat would not allow me even if I craved to speak the plea. If I were a child I might throw myself onto the floor in front of him and cry and beg to be saved, it feels as if some part of me wishes to beg him still, but I withhold. It is one thing for Gods and Goddesses to have quarrels and arguments among themselves, but it is frowned upon to be weak.

I incline my head to my father and back away several steps before I turn and walk out the door. I will turn to the seers and relay what the Fates have told me as soon as I am able. I do not feel as graceful as Athena and Aphrodite. I envy them for how beautiful they are, and how confident they are, but I also envy them for the way they can focus on their games with mortal lives. They never have to worry about losing their powers. Their magic is strong and lasting. They never have to worry that their fate will see them cast out from the only home they have ever known, leaving them only with the hope of survival as a garden nymph… or worse, a mortal.

Slightly defeated, and yet still hopeful, I make my way back towards my rooms by a different path, one that takes me through a quiet set of gardens. Clouds still roll overhead from Zeus’s changing mood. The breeze lifts the leaves on the trees as I pass.

I welcome the cool breeze on my face and wonder in its pureness. For I may never experience a feeling quite like this again.

There is a pool of still water at the side of the path. Clouds reflect in it, some of them with the gray bottoms of a thunderstorm. I slow my steps, watching the clouds pass over the water, never touching. That is what my life will be like if I leave Olympus. My home will be like a cloud overhead, reflected in the water of the mortal lands but destroyed with a single touch. The smallest ripple will distort what I can see, and my memory will fade, the way a mortal’s does.

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